The Goddamn Batman
by Dyingdarkgrave
Summary: Batman's been fighting crime in Gotham for a while, with his trusty sidekick for almost five years, trying to rid the city of crime-lords Falcone and Maroni. Meanwhile girl's have been going missing. Can Batman put an end to this new psychopath? Chapter 6 has been completely changed.
1. Chapter 1

"BATMAN!" He called out after jumping past a door, turning back to look for his mentor.

The few lights, dimmed by years of not changing the light bulbs had gone out thanks to half the building collapsing. The hallway was short, and led to scaffolding since this old building was going to be remodeled before the Falcone family bought out the previous owner. He peered into the darkness, easily making out the shapes of ruble, but straining to see any sign of Batman. The bat-claw whizzed inches away from his ear, just as another part of the cast iron ceiling caved, and the scaffolding collapsed. He zipped up, pushing past the younger man.

"What do you think that was about?" The younger chirped as he followed, he couldn't help sounding a little giddy when things started to happen around them that were slightly out of the plans that Bruce may have concocted.

Batman put up his hand as he catty-cornered, looking about the proceeding area, hearing the voices of the thugs they had been following closely for the last few days. Robin mimicked the action, crouching down next to his mentor, to try to listen in. They sounded panicked as they yelled about rushing out of the area right down the next hall, afraid that the whole building would soon collapse then whispering to each other in hushed tones that the Batman may notice a crumbling building if they did make it out. A few boxes, moldy and covered in dust laid about, some empty, others with some of their contents spilled, and there were two air vents close to the ground, just as the blueprints had marked out.

Robin had found this location only a few days before, having scoped it out before they moved in on their prey. The blueprints of the building were easy to find in one of the offices just below these large industrial air ducts; since the building was in the midst of being repaired. Batman of course neither acknowledged that Robin was actually trying his hardest to keep close to the Falcone's family's goings on or that without him it'd be a little difficult to navigate through the whole thing.

There were several mezzanine floors that they could use to their tactical advantage, there were also plenty of air ducts that would help them escape detection, especially on lower floors. The power being out in most of the building was wholly to their advantage, minus the areas with a few small backup generators, which had been used as power for the work crew that never got close to finishing their job.

There was also a storage area near the main office, and a random door on the wall with no stairs that actually used to lead to the office before the first collapse of the building a few years back.

And while Robin had pieced together all this information so meticulously, Batman had found himself following a new serial killer, leaving Robin to learn more of the gang's movement alone. The boy-wonder thought the challenge more of a test to his detective skills until he had presented it to Bruce, and he just seemed to skim all the information in ten minutes then declared they would be hunting down some mobsters.

Sure, those weren't Bruce's exact words (they were something more along the line of "Suit up") but whatever about that.

Instead of working more together on the whole mission the boy-wonder felt like he had returned to being the tiny boy side-kick who more of followed Batman around than helped. But he decided not to dwell too long on that prospect since they had bigger problems at the time.

The only problem that mattered at this moment now was half the building being collapsed and all the thugs desperately trying to get all their drugs out before authorities made their way closer to the commotion. Truth be told though, most of the police were anything but useful in cracking down on crime as of late in Gotham, so these guys were more than likely afraid of the Batman.

For Batman's grand strategy this was less than ideal —they had stopped tons of the drugs from spewing onto the streets of Gotham, but it would never be enough. The only way for them to even slow down the drug ring was to take down the top dog, Carmine "The Roman" Falcone. A man Robin had only seen once, maybe. He stood at six foot, hair all white, even then, three years ago. He always seemed serious, dark brows over dark eyes, thick fingers and a straight nose, and from what Robin could remember, a thin black mustache.

To be able to find Falcone they had to follow the top henchmen at this location to him, though that could potentially take days, possibly while turning a blind eye to the drugs making their way into the city (which they both knew they couldn't risk that or losing the opportunity of tracking him down.) If the plan worked, the drug trafficking would be curbed. Batman had already taken down Maroni, having had him tried earlier this year for several counts of murder and drug-trafficking thanks to the counsel of Harvey Dent, and unfortunately ending with his men fleeing to Maroni's sons and even more so to Falcone; allowing for the "Roman Empire" to grow larger.

"'Urry up; we need'a get this shit outta 'ere!" One of the thugs yells out to the rest of them. "You stay 'ere, while I go an' report to da boss."

"Don' worry aboudit, I'm sure da Bat's tied up in some mess already, we'd all be dead oderwise." The other replied, waving his arm haphazardly.

Robin stood up, his mentor just spending a quick glance his way, and walked back to a vent he had spotted earlier, and began his attempt to remove the grate. Robin, though now at the ripe age of sixteen was apparently taking too long for Batman's taste, and therefore deemed unsuccessful and was brushed aside by his mentor. Batman pried the grate free easily and seemingly effortlessly and Robin, with a scoff of, "I almost had it," disappeared inside the vent, while Batman turned to stop the drugs from going further than this warehouse.

Robin made his way through, bumping into only a few rats (and of course poop) before standing up in a vertical shaft, and having to quietly jump against the wall, and reaching a higher horizontal duct. During Robin's muffled ascent, Batman had returned to his prior corner, the first man was gone —Robin taking care of that situation— and the second man stood ordering the thugs to continue. Batman slipped past this man, grappling to the roof of the office, a small over looking structure that had its own roof and a set of stairs, from the schematics that his ward provided there was another set of stairs to the office on the other side of the wall, and then over to a nearby iron support bracket that no longer supported anything.

He made quick work of a henchman wondering just below him, rushing out of the building with the drugs, by hanging upside-down with the help of his grappling hook and lowering himself to grab the guy and leaving him to hang by a foot, unconscious. He quickly moved to the next support bracket, and landed between two thugs as they passed each other, smashing their skulls together. Two thugs below yelled out to their colleague, now having spotted him, and the guns were brought out by the nervous crowd of five.

Batman made home in the dark shadows quickly, disappearing from sight, and the now-paranoid thugs cautiously sought him out. One of the five goons passed by the Caped Crusader, listening, but a crack from the other side of the warehouse spooked him. Batman then, grabbed the gun, dismantled it in mere seconds, the thug frightened into silence. He fell to his knees at his first encounter with the dark knight. Batman took advantage of the moment, hitting him with the butt of the gun, still in his hands, knocking him out instantly, and walked over to his next hiding spot.

A thug saw the end of his cape, and made his way to check out the strange movement, finding a fist in his face as soon as he got too close. He had pulled the trigger causing enough commotion to attract is friends to the situation; Batman disappeared again, this time prying open a grate, and making his way to a better area to over look the thugs left over.

"We know ya's in dere!" The thug yelled brushing his work-glove covered hand, under his broken, bloody nose.

Bruce pushed open a grate when he reached the other end of the duct, and had the cover of a few large crates, then returned to the last support bracket as they now looked about the warehouse grouped together. He made his way to breaking them apart, jumping behind them, kicking one of them towards those in front of him, and when they attempted to shoot him he made sure to be out of their panicked accuracy range (which unsurprisingly wasn't very far).

The last four began running about, trying to find the hero, the front two finding his feet as he swung down from the support bracket, momentarily seeing stars, then nothing immediately after. He then punched the bloody-nosed thug's jaw, knocking him out swiftly.

The last thug aimed the gun, Batman crouched, ready to make his move at the drop of a hat. "Well, Ba'man, whadda surprise." He said, looking around, at all his fallen comrades.

Batman pulled out a batarang, waiting for the man to finish his statement, anything that would help further their search for shutting down this drug ring would be appreciated.

"Sad that this is where you last fight," he gloated, not being helpful at all for any more clues, finger on the trigger. Batman pulled back his arm, prepared to throw the small weapon and duck and roll out of the way, and then hit the thug on the back of the neck with his elbow, therefore affectively knocking him out.

But before any of these actions took place, a red-clad boy, fell from above and knocked out the threat. "Looks like I came back just in time." Robin commented smugly, and Batman seemed unimpressed. "I have a tracker on our guy already, so we can go _whenever_ you're ready." He held out the touch screen tracker. Batman plucked it from the youngster's hand, and look at it, turning away, ready to leave. "At least say something about me saving you!" The boy-wonder whined, following his mentor toward their ride.

"I didn't need your help." Batman stated coldly, and before the boy could protest he continued, "I had everything under control."

The younger crossed his arms, mumbling under his breath, "of course you did, like always," knowing his mentor had heard it, though, and like always paid no mind.

They entered the bat-mobile, and having plugged in the tracker, began to drive towards where Falcone was most likely hiding. With the police radio on low, the ride seemed too quiet; with going on five years of being Bruce's ward, this calmness told the young man that there was a greater issue that would arise soon, but for now the silence would have to suffice.

The bat-mobile, as he had affectionately dubbed it when he was twelve, had everything a crime-fighter could ever need a car to have. All the bright fancy lights, the cool buttons (Robin proudly knew what each one did), and even cup holders. This was the second model of course, the first one didn't have as many techie things, and now it could even be controlled from the batcave. Alfred could potentially send it to Bruce at a moment's notice. Of course they were aiming to have a fully-functional autopilot to be able to send it, but unfortunately the test-run showed it had issues when pedestrians got in the way, so it wasn't used past a few short miles from the bat cave where Alfred could still control it remotely.

Bruce had been caught up with this new strange serial killer for several weeks, and hadn't actually run it through with his sidekick. While Robin had been busy hunting down the Falcone syndicate he had been tracking down this slayer of girls. Robin had been dying to ask about this killer's M.O., but felt awkward since their relationship had begun to feel more strained from the time when he had attempted to take out a gun-for-hire on Salvatore Maroni's payroll.

Batman focused on the road, saying nothing while the boy-wonder's thoughts swam around the man's metal mask half red and half black matching his strange armor suit. He had distracted the man from shooting into Harvey Dent's hospital room, having a batarang shot out of his hand. He attempted to fully engage the assassin only to wind up trying to dodge a shot. He wound up shot in the side –a minor thing in the world they revolved in– and had chased the man only to lose him quickly because of his injury forcing him to slow. He had gotten away, and Batman had been with Harvey –discussing who knows what– to check on him.

Dick had no one else to blame but himself, the masked man had gotten away, and when Bruce saw the injury he had begun to exclude the smaller vigilante.

The boy understood that what had happened to Dent was a tragic thing, and Bruce felt it had been his fault, and that it was overly worried over Robin being shot so soon afterwards, but he felt that this exclusion was too much. "Bruce, I-" suddenly the most interesting string of words came from the police-radio; Bruce raised the volume, incidentally cutting off his ward "The report on the body is being sent."

"Another body has been found!"


	2. Chapter 2

Quickly Bruce had set the car on autopilot and instantly hacked into the police system retrieving all the information of this new murder and linked it to the serial killer.

Robin took a quick glance over the body's description. A young girl, ten years old, blonde hair, brown eyes, blue dress with a bloodied apron, she had been found in an ally wrapped in a table cloth, stained with tea and cake. "Is this that killer you've been trying to track down?" He silently thought himself fortunate to not have to ask over the case, and instead have it land on his lap in the form of a computer screen.

"I've already figured out the approximate location." Batman responded seeming upset by the whole situation, and brusquely turned the autopilot off.

"Why do I get the feeling this is an actual psychopath?"

Bruce, looked over at the younger, "Did something jump out at you from the girl's description?"

"Alice," he responded.

"Good eye, Dick."

Bruce down-shifted and Robin noticed that they took a strange, sharp turn, now getting further away from the small red dot on the tracker. Batman had an idea of where to find this crazed madman, and they had to stop him before another "Alice" was kidnapped and killed.

"Where are we going?" Dick asked, though he could tell that they were heading into the Bower district of Gotham. The streets became tighter, and the buildings squished in more together, it was an older district, some buildings were still cobbled, and gargoyles were on any and all that were taller than one story high.

"They've been finding all the bodies near the courthouse and the Ace Chemical plant." Batman informed curtly.

"So, the perpetrator should be holding out in that area." Dick finished the thought.

"And since the last 'Alice' he used was dumped recently, he should be in search of another. He targets young girls with blonde hair, but I haven't figured out why he's killing them."

"If these girls are always found in table cloths-"

"They're not, this is the first girl found in that cloth." Batman corrected.

"So that's a new clue." Robin caught on and Batman nodded, turning down a few different streets. "And so you might catch him in the act? Or are you hoping to find him before he hides again?"

"I figure that he believes himself to be setting up a tea party, and for some reason these girls are upsetting him. At first I thought it may be a woman, believing that she was the Queen of Hearts, getting revenge on 'Alice,' but cutting off her head would make more sense, rather than the poison being found in their systems."

"These girls were poisoned?" Robin repeated, he felt a little surprised and sickened, but kept those emotions out of his voice, sticking more to a hollow curiosity.

"Yes and this poison seemed strange. I had analyzed it earlier this week, off of one of the bodies I had a chance to scan and analyze myself." He paused a moment, "it seemed just short if being a type of truth serum."

"With the Queen explanation it would also make sense, considering she may be trying to get a specific answer from Alice and getting upset that it wasn't working."

"But the method of murder doesn't seem right. Or perhaps, incomplete." Batman, pulled over and came to a complete stop, leaving the bat mobile, and Robin followed, going down the alley.

Cautionary tape was still placed, with a few cops standing by. "This doesn't seem ideal," Robin mumbled. After a few blows with the Maroni crime family, Batman had been placed on Gotham's most wanted list, and Maroni sat behind bars with friends like the commissioner, awaiting Batman's arrest. "Where to now?" He whispered, turning to see that his mentor was gone, only the bat-mobile there to keep him company.

With a reluctant sigh, he looked up to see, Batman jumping from one roof to another, stubborn to check out the scene. Robin leaned on the vehicle, ready to move in on a moment's notice.

After a short while some gruff voice yelled out about Batman being spotted, and Robin came to attention as he watched a few of the policemen pull out guns. A gas pellet suddenly went off in the ally, Robin got into the bat-mobile, seeing his mentor slip over the roof while coughing cops tried to find their way out of the smoke. He sped off in pursuit of Batman.

He turned on the vehicle's tracking system, to which could be used to automatically send the bat-mobile to Bruce while keeping autopilot from fully engaging; which was harder than he thought, but safer for pedestrians.

He turned the next corner, and a thud was heard on the roof of the car, a sly grin came to the boy's face as he disengaged the tracking and Batman slipped in through the passenger window. "GCPD, and step on it."

Robin complied, a widened grin on his face, as he was at least trusted enough to drive the car with his mentor in it. Robin pulled up to a building adjacent to the Gotham City Police Department headquarters, and turned to leave the vehicle.

"Go home, and wait for further instructions," Batman ordered while exiting.

The boy-wonder turned to him wanting to be further involved with the case, but Batman had already closed the door, and disappeared from sight to the rooftops above. "I hate it when he does that." Robin muttered with years' worth of resentment.

...

"I don't like the looks of this Jim," Commissioner Loeb muttered over reviewing some papers. "Girls are disappearing off the streets of Gotham, and parents are frantically placing blame on the police 'cause we can't find this sick-o! Tell me details, Jim, details!"

"These girls are being drugged, and an autopsy is being done on the latest victim." Lieutenant Gordon replied gruffly.

"That's all you're giving me!" Loeb yelled, standing up, both hands on the desk and scattered paperwork. Patience around the city was running thin, and the pressure on the Commissioner was felt throughout the department.

"No one understands more than me, what these parents fear, sir, and no one wants this guy put away for good more than I do. But I'm telling you, the latest we've found from these victims is drugs, we've got our forensics team looking at what kinds, and the abrasions on all the girls have told us some struggle. No rape. And bruising on the torso shows consistency with CPR, this guy tried, _hard_, to keep most of them alive longer." The Lieutenant added with some foreboding.

"So this guy's not trying to kill them, just keep 'em doped up, why?" The Commissioner mumbled more to himself, finally having calmed down some, sitting back down in his leather chair.

"If you could just read my report, instead of calling me to your office, I could probably gather more information on this case." Gordon scoffed, reasoning that it may be impossible to find anything on that desk of his, but turning to leave anyways.

"Watch that mouth of yours, Jim, and tell me when you find out _anything_!" He called out as Gordon closed the door and continued down the hallway, into his office. When he closed the door and turned on the lights, he was taken aback by the dark knight leering out the window.

Gripping his chest a little then tossing his trench coat on the coat rack near the door, he mumbled casually, "What's the pleasure of your visit?"

Without even a glance in his direction, the dark knight responded, "I need access to the last victim of the serial killer you're chasing."

Jim nodded a little, mostly to himself. "If they find you in here, we'll both be in trouble." He muttered, with a smirk on his face. When no response came, he nodded again, "I'll need to ask the forensics team to leave, so give me about ten minutes." He rolled up his cuffs, and left his office. Sauntering down the hallway, past the restrooms, down the stairs, around a corner, and through the chase doors, where two men and a woman were examining the small girl's corpse. The dress hung nearby, and the body was covered up to her chest with a white sheet.

"Lieutenant!" One of the men blurted, holding a swab close to the girl's face.

"Come 'ere I need to talk to you three." He pointed around to the three of them; each of them looked to each other.

"What for?" The woman questioned, standing from the chair, she seemed extremely concerned.

He knew how to play this, "Beyond the point of evidence gathering we still need to contact the parents. Have you-" Gordon started.

"And I've already contacted the girl's mother," she started, "Ellen Walters, ten, lived with her single-mother, Victoria Walters, thirty, and disappeared two weeks ago, she's heading over now."

Jim was caught slightly off guard, but quickly recovered, without even the slightest twitch of expression. "Well, we can't be crowding the room when she gets here, so out until she's here!"

They seemed to understand the validity of his statement, though their eyes questioned the reasoning, but nodded, solemnly leaving the room. After weeks of dealing with little dead girls every few days they all felt too exhausted to argue too much. He sighed, about to turn to return to his office and tell the vigilante, when he noticed Batman already standing over the corpse. "What are you expecting to find?" He asked, as one of the most wanted men in Gotham analyzed the girl, touching his cowl, and at one point kneeling. Gordon was slightly nervous that one of the forensic anthropologists would return for some reason, and spot Batman analyzing the girl, and him just standing there letting it happen.

"Motive," the masked detective responded.

Gordon was far from surprised, having known the caped crusader for years, he always seemed to catch the bad guys on even the smallest slip up they might've done. He peeked over his shoulder through the small round window, and sighed through his nose. He was helping Batman, a criminal, to help Gotham get this serial killer of young girls. "Do you need more information?" He assumed Gotham City's knight had already accumulated quite a bit of information over the case if he was already looking at motive.

"Blonde girls, attempts to resuscitate, use of a heavy psycho-hallucinogen," he pulled a cotton swab from his belt, "and traces of saline on her face, but not from her eyes." He looked to the dress, touched his cowl and narrowed his gaze. "On her dress as well."

Gordon looked at the young girl; her mother would be here soon, she would cry, he'd offer her a handkerchief, as he would watch her weep over her daughter's body. It brought him to thoughts of James, his son, whom he hadn't seen in 18 years, and Barbara, his daughter, and how he would feel if he suddenly had a phone call to receive the news of either of them having been killed by some psychopath the police had yet to catch. But he tried to shake the thought from his mind, to focus instead on catching the crazed man, and turned to speak; "If you find this guy quick-" he stopped, placing his hands on his hips, "I hate it when he does that." He mumbled, the forensic team returning, and the older of the two men stepping forward with a solemn look on his face.

"The mother is here now to identify the girl." He said, the other two looking to him.

Lt. Gordon nodded, and the four of them set up the room, so that the girl was alone, with nothing around her, while Gordon left to bring the mother in.

Meanwhile, a boy's mother was being held for questioning by "The Roman" Falcone, being accused of having told the police of the Falcone crime family's movements.

Batman could not be in all places at the same time.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred entered ready to served coffee to the growing boy sitting at the long dining room table. The dining room was well fashioned with large windows and a fireplace that stood proudly behind the large chair the boy currently occupied. Alfred had known that Bruce had told Dick to leave early that night, and he also knew that the sidekick hadn't come in until five that morning. To say the least the air had been growing thicker since the day in court two months prior. The wise butler placed the silver tray on the table and took the slightly smaller chair to Dick's left, and placed the beautifully designed china cup before him on a delicate saucer, then gingerly poured the dark liquid into the cup. He gracefully added two cubes of sugar and a generous amount of milk.

Alfred sighed, knowing that the young man had already resented having been told once more to leave so early in the night. "Where were you last night after Master Bruce asked you to come home?"

Dick sat up, darting a look at Alfred before he slowly tugged the saucer towards him, he took a small spoon from the tray and dipped it in, lazily swirling the coffee. He then let out a dramatic sigh, "You too, Alfred? Really? Don't I get enough from Bruce to have you come and chastise me?" He then pushed the small cup away, placing his head on the crook of his arm, exhaling noticeably again.

"I simply require an answer, no sort of apology to be given or punishment to be received, and I've no need of rude accusations, Master Dick." Alfred quipped back, pouring another cup of coffee for himself, only needing a cube of sugar stirred in.

Richard was counting down the days to adulthood, and angrily wanted to be treated like one by his mentor, all the while Bruce criticized him for things he had been doing for years. He sighed at the thought again, "Sorry, Alfred, I'm just frustrated." He drank some of the brown liquid letting it sooth him, "I was chasing this guy I tagged in the warehouse by the dock, hoping to get closer to Falcone. But he just settled down in some stupid safe house," he dropped his head to the table, causing Alfred's brow to rise considerably as all the dishes shook a bit. "I thought Bruce would be okay if I took the lead just a little." Dick sat up again and put up his arms a if he needed to defend himself, "Well, not the lead, but maybe just some initiative, you know?"

The young man had felt that the transition had been gradual, and believed that Bruce had no qualms about it, since he could still synchronize well with Batman's movements. He sighed as he put another cube of sugar in his coffee. He felt tired, he chased the guy and stopped another from stealing tires from a car, and another from robbing a gas station. He knew Alfred understood his irritation at his guardian's wary behavior, still he knew that Alfred understood why Bruce was doing this, and though he believed himself to be able to detect the point of time when it began to strain their partnership, he couldn't say for certain. What he could say was he was tired.

Alfred stared down at his own cup, deciding against sipping at it as he had planned –he wasn't one much for coffee– and shifted to another topic, "You'll be late for school…"

Grayson shot him a despondent look of inhumane cruelty, "I've barely gotten any–"

"You should have thought of that before disobeying your legal guardian's, hm, suggestion." That's when Alfred's tone took a shade of maliciousness, "And don't forget about the tutoring."

At that Robin put on a overly false grin, one he couldn't help but flash at a challenge, and Alfred merely scoffed at the cocky look. They both knew the thought that had raced through their brains; Richard John Grayson would try to avoid tonight's session.

...

Bruce sat in the cave below his manor and typed away at the newest deductions he had gathered from the GCPD, glancing down at the clock on the screen before him from time to time. The dim lighting that surrounded him allowed for laser focus on what was at hand, though he seemed to have come down with the intention of working out, in his white athletic shirt and a black pair of workout pants. The case itself seemed to be missing specifics as to why there were so many victims in such a short amount of time. The use of the heavy psycho-hallucinogen seemed to be the cause, and when he analyzed it using excruciating measures, he found the compound was in fact changing slightly from victim to victim, though the killer seemed to be particular about barbiturates, which has a strong overdose affect and would explain why the girls were found dead in the first place. What he was in search for was unclear. Why Alice? What was he looking for in them?

"Sir, you do need to sleep eventually," Alfred called from ten feet behind him.

Bruce knew his caretaker to be correct, but his brain was buzzing with trying to predict this man's next move. He needed to catch him before anyone else was hurt, therefore sleep was an impossible option.

Alfred stood there silently, knowing no answer would come from the brooding man, he turned his attention to the screen with a Wayne Enterprise invitation to a gala for one Ms. Nasrin Safar that Bruce would be hosting at his home. "I'm glad you are taking more initiative with your business."

Bruce took a quick glance at the invitation he would send for the gala that would be in a few days, and nodded, "After all your lectures over the subject, I've decided Bruce Wayne should be more business oriented."

Alfred felt a bit smug knowing that his advise had actually been heard by the hero. Bruce Wayne had always made himself out to be a lurid party-boy for the media, including the time that he had dated Vicky Vale, a popular news reporter, to make the guise stick unquestioned. Now he seemed to understand (and if not understand, acknowledge) that his personality requires more than just a ditzy, fickle, whimsical billionaire orphan. He needed to be serious sometimes, he needed to care for the company that upheld his vigilante activities.

"Ms. Safar has invested heavily into Wayne Biotech in the last month, and has just recently been voted into the board of directors for that branch," Bruce turned around in his high-backed executive office chair, crossed his leg, and gave Alfred a look of cocky indifference, "The least I could do is throw her a party."

Alfred looked down at his charge, who tried to make light of the fact that he was actually trying to be something more in the Gotham community as Bruce Wayne instead of completely focusing on being Batman. Alfred knew the look of overconfidence was just another way to practice this new mixture of party-boy businessman. Alfred stood with a look of pride he tried to curtail as he looked at the man Bruce Wayne was trying to become. From that small frightful child that lost his parents, he was now trying to be himself again, after all these years.

"Is Dick in school?" Bruce asked, standing at his full six foot four inch height, as he walked past his faithful butler, and towards a bar that hung from high above.

"I believe so, sir." Alfred, responded.

...

Dick was twenty minutes late, but stared at his school from across the street, it seemed peaceful enough. The tall red bricked school towered above the street below, a black iron fence closed it off from the sidewalk, and on either side of the large arch breezeway small maple saplings, and small bushes with white flowers. The young hero contemplated entering, being late and absent were completely different things, and Alfred would string him up if he skipped out on another day of school. Alfred had taught him personally since he moved into the mansion after all the legal stuff had been sorted out over his adoption. Because of Alfred he was able to stand across the street from his school, being sixteen years old on his senior year of high school, and already accepted to Hudson University in New York, and The University of New Jersey at Bludhaven. He knew he had come into elementary school below average, and Alfred's tutoring and guidance had allowed him to stand here.

He smirked to himself, turned abruptly to his right, and strolled on past the prestigious private school. Dick could admit that school was important, but so were his responsibilities to the city he loved. He was different from other kids his age, he lived to fight the ugly underbelly of the city almost daily at this point, ridding it of the Mafiosos and their drugs.

The young vigilante ran off into an alley, and pulled his costume out of his backpack –to be frank the only thing that was inside his backpack– donning it as he launched his grappling hook onto the building and ran out into the city, rushing towards wherever he was needed as the boy-wonder. The streets of Gotham looked wet, old and cold; it seemed like a city meant for darkness. But at this moment Robin only wanted to make the world a little better by helping those that needed him, jumping from building to building he only noticed the sun beaming down, he tucked his legs in as he jumped over the edge before shooting the grapple once again. He heard a scream for help and gracefully swan dived off a building, landed and rolled into himself to lessen the blow, and snatched a purse from a thief in a hoodie. The pursuing lady seemed mortified then grateful as he calmly handed it over to her, and she thanked him, tears in her eyes, the thief on the other hand had fear in his. As soon as Robin had his gaze on him, he ran. With a smirk and a crack of his knuckles, he was off to catch a crook.

Dick blatantly spaced out on his bed with his laptop in front of him and scrolled through the long essay of the affects of barbiturates on the brain. Alfred had been beyond upset having received a phone call from Trinity that Richard J. Grayson had never shown up to any of his classes. Alfred had phoned him in the middle of the young hero dodging a left shovel hook from a guy that decided that beating down a costumed boy when his posse had dragged a girl into an alley was a good idea. He had spun out of the way, and flipped over the next crony back kicking him into his other friend, having them collapse on each other. He answered the call as the last guy swung out in a hammer punch, which he redirected with his forearm, and kneed him in the stomach.

Alfred was obviously displeased that the young boy had been gallivanting about the city, and hadn't come home at all until the sun had set. The police had shown up soon enough, probably hearing the struggle and quickly helped the woman, and took the men into custody. One officer pointed his gun at the boy-wonder yelling, "Freeze!" but Robin had already managed to get onto a building and run away, knowing the deed would have been done had he not been there to save the day.

Dick had tried explaining to Bruce and Alfred that the men were Falcone's and that they couldn't just get away with doing that to innocent people. Although Bruce didn't seem upset by the explanation -agreeing that the woman was spared from a horrible fate- he put up no protests to the boy having to learn about barbiturates instead of going out on patrol that night.

He knew Bruce preferred it this way for now, and decidedly blamed it on the tension that had been building between him and his mentor, and tried to recall when it had first started.

Dick quickly focused on a memory from two months back, remembering having helped free some hostages from their bindings, while Batman took out all the lackeys. Robin had gotten the last of the hostages to start heading in the right direction, turning to check on Batman, who had cornered Maroni and a few of his more competent men, although he was nowhere in sight.

Maroni eyed the boy-wonder, then looked about, expecting the caped-crusader to fall from some unknown place, then he shot at the young sidekick trying to force Batman out. Robin had dove out of the way behind some crates when he saw the gun pointed at him, and rolled back onto his feet, taking off as quickly as he could. Maroni noticed that his hostages had escaped and sent out two of his five cronies after Robin.

Dick remembered having climbed onto some crates, and purposely jumping over the men as they helplessly shot at him and he made a show of the whole thing.

Maybe that's what it was; he couldn't take the fighting –the shooting– more seriously. That he would enthusiastically climb onto crates and swing on pipes and hanging chains and lights that would creak under his weight. That he smiled while mobsters were distracted by his brightly colored costume that now luckily included black pants, instead of that strange Speedo-like garb he obsessed with for a year. "More aerodynamic," a young, fresh out of the circus Dick had proclaimed. He rolled his eyes at his own innocence.

Maybe it was that he'd sometimes get distracted with going through the motion, or thought, and wouldn't realize other things that he should.

No, he was a good detective, he could figure things out, and he certainly could stay focused on a mission.

The warehouse had a few bright bulbs left, that he or Batman hadn't broken, plummeting the place into near darkness, and the place stunk of fish, rotting wood, and rusting iron. Most of the shipments were piled a few feet apart, allowing easy movement for both of the vigilantes. He remembered Maroni try to set out and escape, tried to reach the docks when a smoke screen set off and kept him in the building but he decided to run into the thicket of the cargo Robin sat atop, and the caped-crusader knocked out his last three men quicker than the mobster boss expected. He was truly alone against the dynamic duo, since Robin had also taken care of the other two He had swung down and kicking them both across the face before he jumped back onto the cargo to get a better survey of the area. Batman quietly made his way over to where Maroni was.

He then sighed at the memory of being spotted just as he was sneaking around on top of some crate to get into a better position. He easily evaded the first few shots but was hit in the shoulder before fully slinking back into the darkness. He knew Batman zeroed in on the shots, and he begun to sneak around the area perhaps too confident for the situation, and was captured by one of the thugs he thought he had taken care of moments prior.

Maroni showed up just around the corner, the gun pointed at him, as if he knew that he had been restrained. "Let's not be too hasty!" the mob boss yelled out to the dark shadows on the ceiling, not knowing where the dark knight might be hiding.

But he shook the thought from his head, it couldn't have been about him getting shot, he was shot at often. That and the fact that Salvatore Maroni winging him seemed like a small potatoes considering that he settled his score with the prosecutor at his trial instead of the dynamic duo.

Harvey Dent was that prosecutor during Maroni's trial, and a vial of acid "mysteriously" passed the court house security and was splashed in the attorney's face when he brought up a very valid point with enough evidence to back it up. Perhaps that was why Bruce had been pushing Dick away, and the ward knew that it would only get worse if he didn't figure out a way to prove himself or to get Bruce to not blame himself, or something else less drastic and easier to accomplish.

He sighed falling back into his bed, staring up at the cream colored ceiling where the fan lazily spun, then crossed his arms over his face. He peered up through his arms feeling frustrated at the thought of Batman trying to curb his crime fighting after five years of being his side-kick.

Alfred sat in the cave, acting as Batman's support as he patrolled the city alone, while he sat in his room reading a long-winded paper on why barbiturates are easy to overdosed on. But his resolve on reading it had diminished, and instead he reminisced on what could have gotten him in trouble.

He remembered jumping off the building like a diver off a diving platform. He remembered the freedom that gave him, no net to save him, just a grappling hook launched in the nick of time. The boy-wonder had grown up as the apprentice of the vigilante for the past five years. He knew the crusader had had less time being a hero alone than with his more dynamic counterpart.

Both had been orphaned at young ages, and each had grown from that in different ways. He knew that while Bruce had been sitting there, on his computer, brooding, trying to figure out the motive of a crazed killer, Dick had been running about the city. This difference continued into their ways of facing their enemies. Since Bruce had adopted the boy and they had been trying to take down the mafias around the city.

Batman had very much so crippled their resolve to face whatever came their way, slinking in their shadows, scaring them as they had frightened the city, while he flew above their heads, fighting them in a way they've never fought any other. Dick's parents had shown him that, the flare of the show rather than the psychological breaking that Bruce had always used. The training that Bruce had put him through was strenuous as it was rewarding, but it seemed to him that Bruce believed it to be insufficient for him.

He sighed, knowing that he was ready to face the world and more with the moves he learned as an acrobat; distracting and confusing the villains, allowing for Batman to go unnoticed for longer than he might have alone. He had jumped from one roof to another, reacting quickly and fighting by staying just out of reach. The duo had severely crippled the crime rings most recently Maroni.

A smirk came across the young hero's face.


	4. Chapter 4

Gordon had called in reinforcements for a hold up taking place within the warehouse, and while he waited for more people the place had grown silent. The warehouse stood over Miller Harbor and had been abandoned about a year prior, when Carmine Falcone had shown interest in the property. The property had yet to be officially sold, but that never stopped the crime lord before. They responded to the complaints of a woman saying that there was a child being dragged into the building. Believing it to do with their open case of little girls being kidnapped then killed, Gordon asked for a team of twenty (and received ten) to catch the man they assumed was working alone.

When the case first appeared with the first body found in Robinson Park Commissioner Loeb was less than interested. It was difficult to get too much evidence, and no substantiating DNA, and with wars between Maroni and Falcone, people were bound to get hurt while lesser thugs were put away. Six comrades had gone in to scope the place while Gordon took a call from the commissioner over how they were proceeding with the case, and readied the other four to go in to investigate. That was hardly two minutes before four gunshots were heard.

Assuming that only those four gunshots mattered, two of Gordon's men must be alive, the other four (keeping in with positivity) could be injured and would need medical attention immediately.

"Hello," a man cooed over the radio, a rough voice, one Gordon tried to memorize immediately. "Your men, they are alive… for now." It continued unabated by the lack of response. It was coarse like gravel to the ear, but firm as though he felt justified by his actions. "They are m-my prisoners until I've finished my work."

They were being held hostage within, and he was forced to wait. He was equipped to collect the evidence in crime scene investigation with all its glory, and now he had to wait for backup that may never come. "Let my men go, we were just called in over a disturbance."

"A disturbance in the Maroni estate, they send cops." He chewed on that information, as though he already knew and just wanted to echo their doom. "These cops are sent to find one killer, not fight my men." The voice threatened, then static silence followed, casting a looming shadow above him and his remaining men.

Gordon felt baffled that this man knew that they had been called and even what they had expected, and had countered by bringing friends to this fight. The silence held over the warehouse, only broken by the soft sounds of waves from the river, made it unbearable to wait. He secretly hoped the dark knight would have a hand in this and end it quickly, but he knew there were other crimes being committed, and there was no certainty that Batman would be here.

A voice came over the radio, "Another girl was found off of Salem Street. She was found in a blue dress, and this time almost completely covered in blood. It looks like someone beat her over the head."

"Fuck," one Officer Moreno muttered. He looked over at Gordon, "Lieutenant, we should be the ones over there, not here, when are the reinforcements going to get here?"

At that moment Gordon had realized the man he was trying to figure out wasn't the serial killer they had expected. They had just stumbled across something much different.

...

Batman had already analyzed the young girl; the manner of the murder seemed more violent than the previous girls found. Just to the trained eye blunt force trauma to the parietal was the cause of death, meaning that she was hit hard and though further analysis someone could conclude what weapon was most likely used. But Batman had to gather as much evidence as he could in such a short window that he couldn't focus on what object was used by the murderer and moved forward with his investigation quickly. When he had looked at the wound it seemed that the force might have been enough to knock her out but not kill her immediately Knowing the current patterns of the murderer and how he has tried to resuscitate the girls, including this one, he may have allowed her to lose enough blood in his panic. There was skin under her nails, providing more evidence against the perpetrator. This particular murder seemed much more intense than the previous ones, bruises all over her arms and legs and the same bruises on her chest as the girls before her. Death may have taken a few minutes.

This serial killer was trying to keep these girls alive. His intent was not to kill them, but to keep them sedated and with him for some other cause. Batman's job was to figure out what was going on and quickly dissolve this operation.

He had sent off Robin to try to zero in on Carmine Falcone's hideout, if the thug had in fact returned to his boss. He knew that the boy wanted to be a part of this new investigation, but felt that it was time to divide their efforts and shut down that drug ring as soon as possible.

Still Batman wanted to keep him away from Falcone since Maroni had proved to be more than dangerous enough in a courtroom setting. He knew Falcone was aware of being targeted and he would be ready. This was the something that was more likely to be deadly and he hoped his ward wouldn't advance too far without him.

Still for now, all his focus laid on this serial killer of Alices.

...

"Shut up, man," Officer Walker interrupted. "We're needed here; this is where we're at, so no complaining."

Gordon looked away from them and back at the building, nothing moved, and his men had spread themselves around the building strategically to be able to keep an eye on each other. Lt. Gordon refused to lose anymore men to this knew player.

Gordon sighed decidedly, and looked up into the cloudy sky, this needed to end, "Stay here," Gordon called, holding his gun with both hands and rushing toward the warehouse. He made it to the iron door on rusty hinges, and pushed it open. Maroni's men were most likely hiding throughout the warehouse, and Gordon had to go unnoticed as he tried to help the hostages escape. He took one more breath of the cool dock air, and couched low as he crept into the darkness inside.

The police radio in the car went off again, "Gordon, we're sending reinforcements."

Moreno's hands pressed together and he looked up at the sky, silently thanking God, while Walker looked down at the radio and picked up the radio and spoke into the speaker, "Officer Walker here, how long until reinforcements?"

A gunshot was heard, and every surrounding officer looked at the building, dread building up like the morning fog starting to come in. A second gunshot was heard, then soon afterwards a third.

"Officer Walker here, we'll really need that backup right now, they're shooting at us in there, over."

"They'll be there in ten minutes."

Gordon stayed low as more shots went off, and slowly waded through the darkness. He felt his old eyes adjust behind the think framed glasses he wore. He quickly made out a set of stairs along the wall he stayed close to, and large crates far to his right. He was exposed to anyone that was looking for him with eyes already fine-tuned to the shadows and yet he closed in on the area the bullets were coming from. He made his way closer to the stairs and found a metal door slowly pushing it open, then heard another shot come from above and rushed up the stairs.

He catty-cornered the doorway, scanning the room quickly, noting a single man bathed in the light of a hanging lamp, sitting in a metal chair, his hands cuffed to the chair. Crates were few in this room, though there lay one ten feet from the door. He slipped into the room.

The man sat there, his mouth hung open, a hole in his throat, blood escaped through the added orifice. He looked around for anyone else, but couldn't in the contrast of light in such a dim warehouse. He darted towards a metal table five feet away. He peered over it, noticing that the man in the chair had both his knees shot, blood pooling beneath his chair. He scanned over the room and made his way towards the man once he realized no one else was inside.

He slipped out of the room to see a shadow pass by quickly. Gordon smirked to himself in relief, knowing Batman had finally arrived.

"FUCK!" a yell was heard throughout the warehouse, shots fired in all directions. Gordon hurried down the steps closer to the commotion. "What… What are you?" he heard a man stammer. He peeked around the corner and into the room with a conveyer belt, and saw a man laying supine on the ground, trying to get away from a man that stood over him, wearing a suit with different colored halves, though in the darkness of the room he couldn't make out color.

He saw another shadow go by, this time it seemed smaller than Batman, and reasoned Robin was moving in. The man mumbled something, and flipped a coin, pointing his gun at the petrified man.

Gordon pulled his gun to his face, ready to jump out and stop the execution, but a shadow cast over the two men. Gordon looked up, and the executioner turned to the shadow that grew larger, cape-span out. the small figure glided towards the scarred man.

The thug, still on the ground cringed and jolted to his feet, running as quickly as he could. The man in the bi-colored suit shot at the figure and Gordon closed in trying to see the man fully to be able to identify him, but the figure's shadow made it obscure.

A loud noise was heard at the door, "Lay down on the ground! Put the guns down!" The backup had arrived. Gordon turned back to the man running away, and the small figure giving chase.

He felt himself want to follow, but decided against it, settling for checking on the hostages. He calmly walked over to the men, checking the few dead and those that had only lost consciousness, sighing when he found one of his officers dead. He and the rest of his team began putting down tags, as the medics took away those unconscious, and his team took care of the rest. Two officers put down the white outline while he picked up evidence, scouring the place. But with all the filth, and probably all the traffic the place had received in the past few years it would be difficult to determine the mystery shooter.

...

"He's trying different types of barbiturates on these girls, and he's not getting the affects he wants." Batman muttered, as they sat in the bat-mobile. Batman typed away as he received all the new information from Alfred.

"Yes, sir, it seems that the police are finding it difficult to track where he's getting this supply from and keep hitting dead ends."

"Bruce!" Robin called his attention, as he typed away on the other laptop hooked up to the bat-mobile. "This last girl was raped."

Alfred had started to speak, but Batman clicked off the communicator and slammed hard on the gas. "Read me the entire report!"

"Um, Angelica Mortem, fifteen, found in… Where are we going?" Dick asked as Batman took a sharp turn over-zealously, and the younger had to press his hand against the door to keep himself from slamming into it.

"I've been tracking his movements, where the girls go missing and where the girls are found. Though they've been taken from multiple locations, he dumps them in or around Salem Street."

"And the theme of Alice?" Dick followed up.

"I've been looking for any places that have anything to do with tea parties. But now I'm assuming that the tea party characters are more important, and there's a pet shop and a haberdashery on that street. If it's someone that believes he's the mad hatter, Haberdasheria seems like a perfect spot."

"And the pet shop?"

"Rundown now, and might be good for either March Hare or the Dormouse."

Soon enough they arrived in front of the haberdashery and Bruce parked behind a corner on the small one-way street. The duo made their way to the small store, Batman quickly taking out his grapple gun and Robin quickly followed suit, but his mentor put up his hand, "Stay here," he ordered, then launched his grapple up to the roof, lifting off and stopping on the window sill, opening the window and slipped in. The boy-wonder stood there dumbfounded by his mentor's forbidding attitude as of late, and could not decide between following him or his directions.

"This sucks!" he whispered to himself as he looked up to through the window that his mentor had slipped in through. He shot his grapple gun up to the sill and zipped up, raising the window up a bit. He looked back to the bat-mobile contemplating the reason that Bruce might have to hold him back, flustering himself with different reasons and finally decided against the order, slipping into the building and figuring his way through the dark.

...

Batman quickly accustomed himself to the darkness, finding pictures of the couple that must have owned the haberdashery previous to the criminal that inhabited it as of late. He slinked his way down the stairs, the whole place seemed cramped, the air system too small for him to maneuver through. He heard soft trained footsteps trailing behind him, recognizing them as his apprentice. He couldn't do anything about it now, and continued to search for the criminal.

"Come now, Alice," he heard a strange gnarled nasally voice, convincing some new victim into his ever sickening game.

Batman made it to the bottom of the stairs and he crouched down peering around the corner, seeing the man dressed in a green trench coat and an over-sized d'orsay beaver hat balancing on the man's large ears, looming over a small child. The small girl clad in a blue dress with a small white apron seemed confused by what the Mad Hatter asked of her. She looked up with glazed brown eyes, and the essential long blonde hair. The room was decorated with colorful curtains lining the walls, some torn and frayed, and Alice sat in a small chair, surrounded by mix-matched chairs small and large and painted all different colors, around a large table with a long white table cloth with tea stains and cake.

"I said, _'Let us go_,' Alice." He seemed to be losing his patience and reached out to grab her arm, pulling her to her feet.

Batman pulled out a batarang as the girl's eyes filled with tears and she attempted to withdraw from the strange man. He forced her forward, heading towards the hall Batman was in. Bruce glanced back, scoping his surroundings, and noticed a strange gilded mirror with a slightly warped reflection.

"But my name isn't Alice," The little girl insisted, her voice was muddled, the drugs already set in play.

"Don't be silly Alice!" He rebuffed, his voice trembling with anger. "I had taken too long to get you to put on the dress; we must hurry to go back through the Looking Glass!" His voice seemed shrill with desperation.

"But I'm not Alice," the child insisted, eyes drooping closed, sagging into the table. Tha Mad Hatter pulled the girl in front of him, nearly tripping over a teapot on the ground. "Alice is a girl's name!" The child slurred as he slumped against the wall.

Bruce felt Robin approach behind him, and without a word exchanged, he threw the small weapon into the Mad Hatter's shoulder, just as he had raised his hand to slap the boy. The batarang knocked him off balance and Batman ran close behind him, jumping over the small boy and rushed the enemy. Robin quickly followed, scooping up the child, and tried to head for the door he had seen from the outside. The door had been sealed off, plaster and curtains blending it into the rest of the scenery.

The Mad Hatter found a large black shadow swoop down onto him, a fist raised, and another cloaked being stole away Alice. His Alice! He had looked so hard to find her, and these masked hooligans were stealing her away! He screamed and struggled against the larger being, confused by the sudden intrusion. "Alice!" He cried out to the small confused boy, reaching out desperately for help. "ALICE!"

Robin ran back down the hall with the stairs, and finally took note of the long hallway, with parts of the walls torn out and a large mirror at the end of it. "My name isn't Alice, it's Jason," the boy retorted, limp, and nearly cataleptic in Dick's arms. He rushed back upstairs quickly as the struggle between the madman and his mentor continued downstairs, he slipped out of the window, as the sedated little Jason's eyes wondered around confused before they slid shut.

He slipped into the bat-mobile and initiated contact with Alfred. "Penny-one, can you look for any missing children's reports with the name Jason?" Dick touched the boy's forehead which felt cold and calmly to the touch.

"Right away, sir." The older man's voice sounded over and the communication went silent.

"My parents aren't looking for me," the small boy muttered, taking slow shallow breaths. "They're dead."

Robin felt a twinge in his heart as the boy faded off to sleep, remembering the death of his own parents. "How?" he asked, half hoping the boy was too far gone in slumber to respond.

"A man killed her," the boy murmured, "a tall man, with yellow skin. The Roman said for them to die, and my mom screamed a lot."

Dick looked down at the boy looking peaceful in his sleep, his face seeming like porcelain in the soft glow of the interior lights, noting that his face was caked on with makeup, and bruises were hidden beneath those layers. He realized then he couldn't let him sleep "Penny-one… I think he's overdosed!" He felt the panic come up at full swing, he knew West Mercy Hospital was nearby.

"Don't let him sleep, sir, and make sure that he's laying on his side if he vomits." Alfred paused, "I will call the police to take a statement from the boy when he's been checked in."

Dick drove off quickly, heading towards the hospital.


	5. Chapter 5

Though Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter had been put behind bars waiting his criminal lawsuit, it already looked like the insanity plea would be available for use, especially since Arkham Asylum had officially opened its doors to allow for criminals to be interned. It had been temporarily shut down to install new features and fix old wiring to allow for the criminally insane to be housed appropriately, and have those that were residential patients to be kept safe under this new arrangement.

Still Dick's thoughts didn't linger on the deranged Tetch, instead he couldn't get over what Jason had told him about his parents. The Roman had put them to death. The mob-king had done this to countless families. People were always going missing in Gotham as of late —a desperate move to counter the vigilante that began to dominate the streets. He'd been trying to track down his movements, but he felt that he was too slow at caching up to the mobster. He had recently begun searching for any bodies found in the river; maimed to unrecognizable pieces. But nothing he searched for in the GCPD database had seemed to match up to what he was finding on his own when he took it upon himself to scour the usual body dump sites. The thought of a tall yellow-skinned man began to haunt him. His mind reeled with how the young boy might have gotten away, how he wound up with Jervis Tetch, and what this has anything to do with Falcone's operations as a whole around the city.

He had wanted to approach Bruce about what the boy had said, but refrained because it seemed to him that Bruce was distracted with furthering his business empire. Also, in a normally silent corner of his mind an idea began to gnaw away at him. Bruce was distancing himself. For now, his mentor engrossed himself in being Batman or the ever growing Wayne Enterprise, and the trust between the duo had become frustration as Dick found himself resenting his adoptive father more and more as time went by. He had found that the more he attempted to be independent, the more Bruce excluded him from cases. Grayson understood, in part, that it was also his fault that the tension had been growing, but he knew he had outgrown the 'just-a-sidekick' title.

The boy-wonder had resolved to confront Bruce dodging him, winding himself through the entrance into the Batcave from behind the grandfather clock. The familiar click from behind, and the flickering to life lights, although almost painfully dim, lead him through the tight passage, his light feet softly padding on the smooth stone stairway. He took in a deep breath, the cool underground air filled him up, making the determination grow more into stubbornness. He entered the lair to find a fully-clad Batman jump into the batmobile and drive off while Alfred yelled about tonight's gala.

Grayson stood there, his mouth wide open to what he had just seen and stomped his foot in contempt, as he rushed down the metal steps to the large monitors that had been left on standby. He began clicking away as Alfred stood idly by, accessing the encrypted system, and found another over-looked piece of evidence connected to the Maroni syndicate. Worse, it was a folder on someone that had been in town for certain the weekend of his parents' murder! His face burned with anger at the fact that Bruce had kept this from him; that he would go without him to track down this guy, and that he now had to play catch up and find Bruce to be a part of this.

The boy-wonder marched over to his suit, only to have Alfred stand closely behind him. "There is a gala tonight, Master Grayson, and someone must make an appearance," the composed butler said in a chillingly ominous tone.

Dick felt the chills run up his spine as Alfred marched him upstairs to ready himself for the party.

Alfred was upset.

Alfred shouldn't have to be upset, but Bruce ran off to fight more baddies and has left the boy behind —again— to entertain the guests. And Alfred had been tricked into believing that Bruce was trying be more responsible with his company (the only thing allowing him the spare cash he needs to be Batman).

"I do not like these things," Dick complained stiffly while Alfred tied his bowtie and he messed with his cuffs.

The boy stared at the reflection as the two of them just stood there in the mirror, the elder's laser focus on making his bowtie puff up and spread, then fixing his collar, "And what do you mean, Master Grayson?" Alfred mused.

He sighed as Alfred finally finished and straightened up, but Dick's eyes didn't look away from the mirror. "I don't know... the monkey suit I guess." Alfred looked to the mirror, his arm slightly bent and his face seemed unimpressed with whatever he saw in the mirror, looking down his nose, but the younger continued, "I don't like these stupid parties at our place, and Bruce is getting to be a hero while I'm stuck playing son of a host at a gala for someone I haven't met yet."

Alfred's gaze seemed to soften on the little blue-eyed reflection boy, "I would prefer him not to start a party that he intends to be late to, or worse, not show up at all."

Dick nodded in agreement, and then turned to the rest of his room which was clean only because Alfred had made it so. He sighed at the fact that he was always forced to help, at least a little, though he didn't mind having a mess. The room was spacious, a queen size bed all for himself, with a simple mahogany bed frame. The embedded shelf behind was filled with unnecessary books, random fiction and nonfiction that Alfred had apparently tried to force upon him as a child. The closet was a large walk in closet complete with a wardrobe that consisted of very interesting expensive clothing, and he admittedly only wore about three to five pieces of clothing ever, and those pieces spent a lot of time on the floor with Alfred's animosity.

Dick looked in the mirror once again and felt more peeved over entertaining Bruce's important Wayne Enterprises guests alone while he got to have all the fun swinging off of rooftops and onto mob guys faces and he looked for Dick's parents' killer.

Alfred looked to him and he suddenly has a strange thought of poor little Jason Todd being alone at the orphanage while all that paperwork to adopt him goes through. The boy-wonder tried to shake off the thought and follow Alfred to the large staircase that leads out to the foyer, where many people were already gathered drinking Champaign and talking. Some look up from their conversations, some with small finger foods being chewed, but most seem to ignore him. He couldn't imagine the little blond haired boy having to attend these parties too, probably how he couldn't have imagined himself here before his parents had been killed.

"Dick Wayne," someone to his right calls out as he slowly makes his way down those last few steps.

She was one of Bruce's overzealous secretaries, and he had seen her at the manor a few times, visiting with paperwork when Bruce just couldn't go into the office. Sometimes Bruce wouldn't even be there, but she'd drop off the work and always asked if he was home and if she could see him. She was pretty and maybe a few years older than Dick, hair dyed blonde, eyes a light brown, she liked the sun, slightly tanned with a few freckles on her face, along with that smile that permanently resided on it.

"Oh, hi," he managed as she gracefully walked over and once a few feet away lowered her gaze to the floor and tucked a few loose locks behind her ear. "Samantha, right?" oh dear God, does he hope her name is Samantha right now.

"Amanda," she corrected and smiled sheepishly as his blood rushed into his cheeks.

"Sorry," he quickly offered, and she nodded, the smile directed more at him than at the floor. "Amanda, how's the party going for you?"

She turned a bit to look at the other guests, and he took a moment to look her over, with a blue dress a little too short and way-too-high high-heeled shoes, and a strange but pleasant bun ponytail combo.

His eyes dash back to her eyes from her slim figure when she turned back to him, they both smile, "It's going pretty okay, I guess. I kept wondering when you and your father" —he winces— "would show up."

He nodded then quickly grabbed a large shrimp off a passing waiter's silver tray, and bit into it carefully so he won't look uncivilized, with one hand in his pocket to make it more nonchalant, more natural, he hoped. Once he swallowed the first bite, he looked at Amanda, "Sorry, I'm terrible with bowties, took me a little longer than expected to get ready."

She smiles again, "Mr. Wayne-"

He winces again, holding up the hand without the shrimp, "Dick, please."

She giggles, "Dick," she echoes, "when do you think Mr. Wayne will show up?"

_When he feels he's had enough of bashing in faces, and standing over the city_, he wanted to say, but settled for, "Soon I hope."

She gave a small sigh, and realized that her small signs that could be seen as flirtation were probably directed at Bruce and he wants to sigh too, but contented himself instead with stuffing the rest of the shrimp in his mouth.

He shakes a few of the board member's hands, trying so hard to remember all their names when they introduce themselves, in case one of them try to talk to him later on in the party. He stares at the doors, maybe forty feet in front of him when the door is opened and a woman, in a beautiful black mermaid gown, her long chocolate hair pushed to the left by a scorpion comb piece allowing the curls drape themselves over her left shoulder and down past her ample bosom though no cleavage shown. She has beautiful tanned skin, honeyed if that was a possibility, and had the aura of exotic lands Dick couldn't quite imagine. She placed a confident hand on her hip and scanned the room with sultry eyes, her mouth with a slight natural pout coated in a wine colored lipstick.

"Mr. Wayne?" Amanda asked in a small voice, and he realized that she had been talking this whole time, though instinctively he glanced around the room searching for Bruce, then realized that she had again taken to calling him that. Before he could answer he met those sultry green eyes that seemed to draw him in. She sauntered over, her hips swung gracefully with every step.

"Mr. Wayne?" She asked, her voice thick with an accent he couldn't place, her brow slightly raised.

"I..." Dick couldn't think of what to say. "Well that's..." He scratches the back of his head, then thought it rude immediately, then decided on holding out his hand to shake hers, "Richard, um, Wayne."

"Nasrin Safar," She said, looking carefully at his hand, and before he could awkwardly retract it, she slowly took it, giving it a confident shake. "Richard," she said incredibly awkwardly, "Wayne-"

"You can call me Dick," he quickly added, her hand still held his.

She nodded then continued, "I am a new associate of Wayne Enterprise… Do you happen to be Bruce Wayne's heir?"

He felt his face go hot, he had never really thought of that, "I..." He couldn't yet imagine at the age of sixteen what it would mean to run Wayne Enterprises, being a Grayson, a child from a circus running a rich man's show. Then he thought, _he'll surely have some kids of his own by the time something like that would even have to happen, and they would probably take over instead._ "Well, I'm kind of adopted, so I don't really know how that all works." He stated sheepishly.

"Oh," she said, sounding strangely relieved, causing him to feel more uncomfortable about having said that, and she finally releases his hand. "Where is he?" She asked suddenly, pulling him back into the conversation, pulling him from the thoughts of his parents, of watching them fall from so high, his father reaching for his mother, trying to pull her in, to protect her it seemed, but both hitting the ground, just beyond a the heads of the gasping audience.

His thoughts seemed to murmur far away, "Uh, he should arrive soon, I hope." Dick chipped in, as Nasrin's eyes scanned the crowd again.

Grayson felt empty as he snuck away from her and Amanda whom watched him back away and walk amongst the other guests. He kept mostly to himself until he spotted Lt. Gordon and made his way over to the old family friend. "Hello, Lieutenant," he tried, hands deep in his pockets as he approached.

Gordon's gaze scanned over the heads of the other guests came to rest on Grayson, "Hello son, how's the party?" The shook hands and the lieutenant's other hand clasped onto his shoulder.

"I'm supposed to ask that," he chided playfully, taking in the worn suit, and slightly peppered hair and moustache. He seemed older than he was; the stress of chasing criminals in a mobster city was catching up to his upright, law-abiding character. He was no "spring-hen," as he had put it before; he did have two children, both older than the young crime fighter. Dick had been to the same middle school as his daughter, Barbara, and he was friends with her. Still it seemed that the years of trying to chase the evil from the city had worked themselves on this man.

Gordon smiled a smile that reached his crow's feet, "Well you looked like you needed someone to ask you for a change."

He smiled back at the older man, and then his thoughts wandered again to the boy, Jason Todd, that Batman had left in the hospital, that Gordon took to the orphanage a week later. The orphanage named after Martha Wayne, the one that he had escaped from twice himself. He and Bruce visited the next day and looked into Jason's eyes after he made a police report over his mother's attack and told him that he had to wait there a little while. They had found out that the boy's father had died in prison around the same time they had found Jason with Jervis Tetch.

Jason claimed to have watched his mother being torn apart by a very large man that sounded like he was jaundiced, while he hung from his arms over the large man. He had been traded for money his mother owed for drugs, and so they dragged him to a cage. He said that they only let him out to beat him to a bloody pulp. He somehow escaped, though he had yet to explain how, and wound up with the Mad Hatter.

He had checked the police report as soon as it had been added to the database; Jason had so much internal bruising along with the bruising that was visible on his torso. His face had a few scrapes and bruising was found around his neck and wrists. Most of the harm done to him didn't seem to fit the mad hatter's profile, though that caused to question if he actually hurt the boy at all, seeing as they couldn't make a clear distinction from all the damage. The way Dick saw it, the boy was lucky to be alive, and honestly, he probably had some skills being able to survive so long on his own. He saw himself in the boy, though his own story might not be as insane, he still felt that the boy was impressive, and could be a great addition to the family. He brought his potential up to Bruce, only to be shown the adoption papers.

"How's that kid Bruce wants to adopt?" Dick asked, trying hard not to sound overly concerned since he's supposed to be clueless about what Jason's been through.

"He has nightmares, from what I hear, and he just got the okay from the Docs, though they did hold him for observation for a while," he answered honestly, and Dick was grateful that the Lieutenant viewed him as someone to be honest with. It meant he could talk a bit more about Jason without leading on with how much he found on his own. "I know that this place will be a big change, he's been through too much… Hell, I remember when Bruce took you in, you didn't seem like you had quite gotten to mourn enough and the waterworks would start up at any moment. Just watch him a lot, okay?"

Dick nodded, watching your parents die, and being powerless, he knew the feeling. Jason had watched his mother die while he was helpless. From what was on the case file on Jervis, any other child his age or size would have died from the shock alone. The internal damage would take time to heal, but he seemed to get along without complaining.

"He seems angry all the time, which is normal," Gordon continued, "don't be too hard on him." He takes a moment to scan the room again.

Finally Bruce walked in through the front doors, smiling, his arms opened wide, and people start to gather around him. He took their hands with both of his and shook theirs with confidence. Gordon began to swiftly make his way over, but Grayson decided to try to sneak closer to the stairs, and as he turned he nearly ran into Alfred.

"The party's not over yet, Master Richard, you should stay and partake some more," he commented coolly, his eyes dead-set on Bruce.

Dick turned to see the people moved away back to talking to each other, while Nasrin made her way to Bruce, and though Gordon was talking to him, she interrupts, a few more words were exchanged with the Lieutenant and then a hand came up on Bruce's part and the old detective left the manor. Bruce walked around with Nasrin elegantly on his arm and made his rounds at the party though he's just said hello to all there. He plucked a champagne glass from a waiter and Nasrin mimicked him when she had the chance. They tapped glasses and sipped.

When they turned to make their way to an old couple Dick noted her back was bare down to the small of her back, and toward the end of the gap there was this interesting design laced on the dress, though what it was Dick couldn't tell from this distance. He watched Bruce place his hand there, looking over to her and smiling, her lips curling slightly.

"I don't need to watch this," he told Alfred, and made his way up the stairs without a single protest from him.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a cold night, and his clothes had been wet. Jason had pulled himself out of the manhole for a breath of fresh air. The rung of rusted iron still in his right hand as he hoisted himself awkwardly onto the rough asphalt. He laid in the alleyway, perhaps a moment too long, and rolled onto his back to stare at the dark clouds that swirled overhead. He remembered having looked off to his left at the windows that lined the building, and the dumpster that stood only feet from him. He tenderly placed his left arm over his chest as it ached. He remembered the fear thick in his throat, as he couldn't find the will to scream. The pipe over the yellow-man's head. Killer Croc.

Jason sighed in exhaustion, as he tried to keep himself from the unconsciousness ahead. It was slow, he raised up his arm and felt it buckle under the force of metal. Pain. Instant suffocating pain, excruciating, as he felt his bones give in. Now knowing the crazed killer had broken his ulna, and his radius had kept the structure up pretty well considering.

He remembered thinking he was going to die, then he flinched from the cold rousing him from having fallen asleep. He slowly rose up from the black street, that he had imagined would be his home until the Roman found him. He limped to the end of the alley, and pushed his sticky blond hair to look down the street. He belonged to the Roman, and he was a dead man. They'd feed him to the Croc.

He felt his arm limp at his side throb in the remembered pain of the hit. The tall man, licking his bloody teeth, the grotesque smile, as he curled around his own broken arm.

Then he saw her face. His mother's wide eyes of terror, no hair to cover her shame. She had given him to this sick man, even after he'd tried to be a good son. He wanted to tell her he'd save her, that she would be fine, that the ambulance would be there soon. But the truth was that she had thrown him away. He was on borrowed time. She sold him. Right then, there was nothing but him and the large Crocodile man; she was no longer there.

He crouched near the entrance of a store, hiding behind the stoop. He had felt the fatigue take over that night against the cold. _I might not be killed by the Croc after all, _he entertained the thought of being found frozen to death. He wrapped around his arm, his hair falling onto his face in stiff clusters. He had still smelled of the under-city as he nodded off.

The Croc brought the pipe back up, swinging low. He blocked with his foot, his tennis shoe flying off, and Jason rolling over himself. He stood and ran. Croc laughed, and walked after him, as he ran the way Croc had come from. He pried open a floor grate, and crawled in the thin space of sewage, pulling himself away from them, his arm screaming in pain, stiffening.

"Run boy, I have your scent," the man's gravel voice sounded after him, until he got into a slightly larger space. Now the coliseum's yells and chants were farther away.

His heart pounded in his chest, throat, ears! Croc had his scent, he would find him! He made it to the end of the tunnel, and fell into the water. It smelled gross, as it invaded his mouth. He pushed himself to the surface, trying to get fresh air, but sewage was all there was. He felt the panic flood him as he turned over, and so kept himself closed off as he tumbled about. He hit an iron gate, but dared not open his eyes, still surrounded by the water. He felt his legs go past on the bottom, and pushed himself down, though it took everything he had.

He tumbled until he hit concrete, and desperately pulled himself up Throwing his useless arm over, and feeling it bend unnaturally. Jason coughed and hacked up what he could, and looked around, seeing the iron ladder. He looked up, seeing light beyond the loosely placed manhole, and had tentatively climbed to freedom.

His fear back to rise again as the ladder grew longer. He looked down, and the water rose up below him. He climbed faster only to see the Croc's face over the manhole, shoving him from the cold sleep.

A small man, in a long trench coat —longer than him— and a large top hat, knelt before him, his hand flinching away. A small smile presented itself as Jason pushed his hair back with his good hand.

"Hello, there," the mousy man started, his voice sounded as though he had caught a cold. "Has Alice been lost?" Jason stared up at him mystified. The man jumped away, maybe a foot or two, and plucked his hat from his head and in a sweeping motion bowed deeply, "I hope you'll join me for some tea." He said, then pulled his hat to his face, "Yes, yes, tea! A hot tea, or warm, on a cold raining date for Alice!" He squeaked.

Tea sounded nice, but he couldn't understand who was Alice. Jason was too tired to decide to figure it out, and decided to leave it for later.

As he started to stiffly stand, the hatter placed his hat on his head, and rushed to help him up, then tugged him along.

Once they'd reached a place, he remembered as a place near his house, maybe two or three blocks away. The hat shop he had peeked through before. He was gingerly pulled in, and pushed into a seat with a full tea party before him. The man locked the heavy door with many heavy locks, which should have sent Jason a clear warning, but maybe he though the Roman wouldn't be able to get to him this way. The hat man rushed off to a different room, where a high scream was heard.

He rushed back with a pot, and filled the pot before him, swishing with the cold water already inside of the small pot. He poured the brown liquid into a tea cup before the boy, steam rising from it, beckoning him to warm his frozen insides. He took it, and drank deeply, before looking to the man, and noticing that he hadn't pour himself any of what he offered.

"Wait," Jason said too late, and already felt the effects of whatever it was, and pushed to his feet, only to feel his head spin.

"Oh, Alice, you haven't finished you tea!" The man squeaked as he put his hands beneath his chin, and watched as the black swirls tightened about Jason's vision, and a thud was loud.

He pried his eyes open, forcing away the ill feeling that threatened his eyes, as the heaviness on his gut cemented itself. "No, no! This is all wrong!" The man said standing over him, his hands in his brown and white hair, avoiding the balding crown of his head.

Jason knew he was naked, this man had stripped him, and he shoved forth his broken hand to brush away the man hovering over him. He flipped off the table.

"No, no, Alice!" The man cried. He rushed around the table, and tugged on his shoulder, "Not yet! I told you, you needed more tea!" Jason tried to brush him off again, but this consciousness was only temporary. He dragged himself only a half a step worth before fading once again to wake up in a blue dress.

His arms felt heavy, and when he tried to lift them they were tied. He whimpered meekly, tugging halfheartedly. He looked around, his head nodding here and there, the room's bright colors in a slight blur. It was too hard to focus, his eyes hurt from the strain. "Help," he tried to yell, but it had only come as a whisper.

"You're awake!" An excited peep came, and he slowly looked over to him. "Oh, Alice, what fun we'll have!" His hands clasped in front of him, "But first, my dear, we must come up with a few agreements, yes?" He came close, leaning on his arm rests, his face inches from his. "No running away." He said in a low rasp, a warning clear as day in the haze of what was in the tea. "We must find the white rabbit. He's been running around! Left us behind. You'll help me find him, won't you Alice?"

"I'm not Alice," Jason responded.

"Oh, but you are!" he rebutted shrilly. "You'll see soon enough." He leaned in a little too close, and Jason cringed away. "No running." He warned, finger wagging.

As soon as he was loose, Jason shoved him away, and tried to run, tripping in the shoes he now wore. The man grabbed his ankles and pulled him, shoved him onto his back, climbing over him. "I'm not Alice!" He yelled.

"You are!" He had a pot from the table in his hand, and clasped his other on Jason's nose, forcing the spout into his mouth. He choked on some, and slapped it harshly away, kicking off the hatter with what strength he had.

He tried to run but held onto a chair to regain some steadiness.

"Come now, Alice," he said calmly trying to convince him as he sat in the small chair. He couldn't fight anymore, and this man knew.

He circled around him like a predator, and pointed down a hallway in a self-satisfied sort of way. "I said, _'Let us go_,' Alice." He seemed to be losing his patience and reached out to grab his arm, and pulled him to his feet. He winced in pain and leaned back to get as far away from him as possible.

The room spun more, and tears threatened to blind him. But he practically shoved him towards the hallway, with his already absent balance. "But my name isn't Alice," he insisted.

"Don't be silly Alice!" He rebuffed, his voice trembling with anger. "I had taken too long to get you to put on the dress; we must hurry to go back through the Looking Glass!" His voice seemed shrill with desperation.

"But I'm not Alice," he tried again as the dizziness overtook and he sagged into the table. The madman pulled him, nearly tripping over the teapot he had thrown earlier. "Alice is a girl's name!" Jason slurred as he slumped against the wall, and swatted away another attempt from the man to grab him.

He had raised his hand to slap him, when he was knocked him off balance and Batman ran close behind him, jumping over the small boy and rushed the enemy. Robin quickly followed, scooping him up and tried to head for the door he had seen from the outside.

The door had been sealed off, plaster and curtains blending it into the rest of the scenery.

The Mad Hatter screamed far behind them. "Alice!" He cried out to the confused boy, reaching out desperately for help. "ALICE!"

"My name isn't Alice, it's Jason," he mumbled almost to himself. Next thing he knew they were falling from the window before he finally blacked out.

"Jason, you're next," a woman called from the room. He stood, though his ribs ached from the strain. He slowly made his way trying not to limp. "This is Bruce Wayne and Lieutenant Gordon."

Jason gingerly sat before them, their eyes examining him. His hair had been trimmed nicely, by the visiting barber, but some hair still hung on his forehead, because he had lashed out at the barber before completing the style. Privileges had been revoked until two days ago.

"Wanted to see how you were holding up." The officer spoke first.

"Fine," He replied brusquely as he eyed Bruce Wayne.

"I know you two haven't met before, but Bruce Wayne here is interested in adopting you," the lady informed, seeming quite abashed by Jason's form of responding.

"Well, that's if there is no longer any parents available to care for you," Lt. Gordon quickly established. Jason tried to sit up straighter but his ribs protested so instead he cringed. "We know your father died in custody last week, but your mother has gone missing.

"She's dead," he spat, "This large man killed her. He had yellow skin, and big sharp teeth. He had a crackly voice. He works for the Roman!" He couldn't get out the information fast enough. He had given his statement before, in the precinct, but Lt. Gordon's face showed that this was the first he had heard of it.

Bruce seemed to be overly quiet, as he just sat back and listened, questions seemed to play by in his eyes but he said nothing.

"They called him Croc," Jason offered meekly, "he tried to kill me too."

Gordon's gaze shifted over to Bruce who's contemplative looked changed to worry. "I'll need to take a statement and have a full investigation before any of this can proceed." He said curtly. Bruce nodded in compliance.

"Fine," He replied brusquely as he eyed Bruce Wayne.

"I know you two haven't met before, but Bruce Wayne here is interested in adopting you," the lady informed, seeming quite abashed by Jason's form of responding.

"Well, that's if there is no longer any parents available to care for you," Lt. Gordon quickly established. Jason tried to sit up straighter but his ribs protested so instead he cringed. "We know your father died in custody last week, but your mother has gone missing.

"She's dead," he spat, "This large man killed her. He had yellow skin, and big sharp teeth. He had a crackly voice. He works for the Roman!" He couldn't get out the information fast enough. He had given his statement before, in the precinct, but Lt. Gordon's face showed that this was the first he had heard of it.

Bruce seemed to be overly quiet, as he just sat back and listened, questions seemed to play by in his eyes but he said nothing.

"They called him Croc," Jason offered meekly, "he tried to kill me too."

Gordon's gaze shifted over to Bruce who's contemplative looked changed to worry. "I'll need to take a statement and have a full investigation before any of this can proceed." He said curtly. Bruce nodded in compliance.


	7. Chapter 7

Two strange men, that he had never seen before, walked over as soon as his mother's words left her mouth. He strained to remember those words, some plea, some trade, bargaining for her life, but he was so confused that they didn't make sense. The men grabbed him on either side, one of them surely would have been enough to take him away, his mother had sold him for a debt, those were her words, _take him_. But instead they dragged him over to the center of the dank pit as a chain lowered. Tears blurred his vision; he was shaking, but couldn't make a sound. His mom was leaving him here.

The men had tied his hands in front of him and placed the rope onto a large hook at the end of the heavy chain. He blinked and he was high in the air, looking down at his mother, as she just stared at him with no expression. He squirmed in fear, attempted to scream but nothing came out, his mouth wide, and the feeling of screams came without the noise. _He's coming!_ He mouthed to his mother. She blinked, looking behind herself in slow motion as the loud clank reached her, and he came over, popping his knuckles. Jason struggled more, and he looked back down as his mother begged for her life, walking backwards, her hands were up, and she tripped, and he just calmly came closer.

Slowly Jason saw the man's face, yellow and cracked thin brown hair on his head, blood on his knuckles and on his teeth when he smirked. He struggled against the rope, high above what was happening, trying to get the rope off the hook. He needed to leave. He was next, he was sure of it.

The men above the pit, encircling them from the safety of their benches, in the darkness around the brighter pit, began to chant, "Croc! Croc! Kill her, Croc! Croc! Croc! Kill her, Croc!" And as the chanting continued, he realized there was a pipe in that man's hands, raised above his head. Croc swung down on his mother, her screams ceased.

"Killer Croc!" The chant blurred, and he screamed and struggled, and cried.

The man was large, tall with broad shoulders, yellow dry skin, and a large mouth. He turned to Jason so high up, a smile on his horrendous face. Jason screamed, as the man stood right below him and jumped, trying to reach his legs. "Kill 'im, Croc!" they chanted, and Jason's panic became dire. His eyes shifted to his mother, now a pile of human, her arm had been thrown off to one side, her scalp he'd been torn off but somehow was still attached to her head.

"You're next!" Croc had yelled, and attempted to reach for Jason, who curled up his legs. He laughed, low and menacingly, more of a chuckle then threw his head back, looking Jason full in the face as the chain lowered and laughed harder than he had heard anyone before.

He awoke in a sudden scream and haze. The darkness of the room got to him; he saw things move in the shadows. Jason, breathed out, trying to calm himself, he —in his frenzy of thoughts— could not remember where he was, though the bed beneath him told him safety, the faraway creaks hindered this notion.

He curled up, trying hard to stop breathing, to stop crying; wherever he was he didn't know what would come to his distress. He slipped off of the bed, tugging the sheet off with him, slowly, staring at the door —at least he assumed it was the door since dim lights in a rectangle shape were seen— and crawled under the bed. He held his arm close to him, safe in its thick cast as he strained at the shadows to see. Slowly he became a part of the darkness as he curled up against the wall. He slowly tried to remember all the events, including the strange man that had said he would help him but instead gave him something that made him feel unusual, and took him somewhere strange and forced him into a dress. He sighed, slightly remembering a boy, taller than him busting in from the hallway.

That boy had promised to be back for him when he was back at the hospital. Now he was in a home for boys, Mary… no, Martha? Wayne? Like that rich guy, something Wayne… Bruce Wayne. He curled up more, remembering the large black shadow that jumped over him and into the strange man. He felt tears renewed in his eyes. He was tired, scared, and alone.

So he left. Crawled out from beneath his bed, and looked to the window, only to find an alarm device, rigged up to the window. So he opened the door. The hallway was lit by a single lamp on a hallway table, that didn't do much when the rest of the long hallway was considered. He stayed low and rushed past the light, slowly made his way down the corridor.

He rounded a corner, feeling his ribs ache from the strain of staying crouched as he moved down the passageway. He slowed when he heard the someone exit a room. He pressed himself against the wall, noticing a small armoire.

He made his way over, opening the armoire, only to find shelves filled with linens. He scaled the shelves instead, closing the door once he got to the top. A woman with a tired look on her face, her hair pulled into a messy bun, and a plain white shirt with a long dark blue skirt passed by, opening doors quietly, to check on each inhabitant. At a door to his left some light shone when she opened it, and she softly chastised the boy, telling him to go to sleep.

She continued on, and he looked around the hallway for any other means of leaving. He jumped down as quietly as he could and recommenced his journey, finding a wall grate for the conditioning of the whole house, fastened to the wall securely with bolts. He sighed and made his way downstairs, knowing the only real way out would be the front door. Then he stayed quiet on the landing when found that Ms. Marie Shallor sat in her office with the door open, and it faced the only way out.

He sighed, when he also noticed the maintenance guy, closing the maintenance closet, after a hard day of fixing that bathroom in the second hallway on the third floor.

"Night, Miss!" He called as she got up to see him out and locked the door behind him.

As soon as she headed back to her desk, he made it over to the closet as quietly as he could. He got in looking around in boxes until he found and grabbed a hex socket and a small mallet. He slowly, opened and closed the door, peering around the stairs to see Ms. Shallor stand up and move into a spot in the office he could not see.

He took this chance, and made for the stairs, quiet as a mouse. He split off down the hall with his room, turning off lamps as he went, adjusting to the lights. He made it to the vent, and slowly rid it off all its squeaky bolts, and moved it to the side, and crawl in. He covered the vent, best he could from within.

Jim sat at his desk, his daughter typing away on her laptop while he sipped away at a lukewarm cup of Joe and reviewed reports from earlier in the day. He'd occasionally glance at her, her red hair tied just above her shoulder. Her brow furrowed in concentration over whatever she was working on. She adjusted her wire-frame glasses, and looked up from the pale glow. She smiled.

He smiled back, enjoying the moment. "What are you working on, kiddo?"

She tucked away some loose hairs behind her ear, "Just some network security homework."

He nodded, pretending to know what that was. He knew so little of his daughter's life, since his wife had left six years before with both of their children. Barbara had only started living with him since she had begun college there and could focus more on her studies if she didn't need to worry about rent.

She seemed to notice the conversation dying, "Remember that time I helped you reboot that relay?" He chuckled, she had been only fourteen and had visited on summer break. Still she had put herself to use wherever she could in the office. James Jr., his son, had been less fond of the police station and had been picked up by his ex-wife. "Then Barney had gotten upset at me for it 'cause they gave him so much slack."

"Well he was outdone by a fourteen year old."

She rolled her eyes, grinning at the prospect. "True, but that was his own fault! He should have never downloaded that-"

"Hey, Jimbo," the door swung wide open, Harvey Bullock's hand still on the handle. He seemed cheerful enough, offering a wide smile, touching his brow with a nod towards Barbara. "Hey, Barb, didn't know you were here today too." He lost the grin, and seemed kind of sheepish, "So, Jim, you remember that kid that you escorted to the home? What was his name?"

"Jason Todd?" Jim offered.

"Yeah, that kid." He pulled his trench coat open to put his hands in his pants' pockets. "Well, he's missing. The lady, Ms. Shallor, says she don't know when he left, but he was seen before bed. Putting the escape maybe half an hour to an hour ago."

Jim begun to reach for his hat and jacket on the hook in the corner of the room. "Alright. Barbara, this may take a while. Maybe you can order some pizza tonight. I'll get Molly to call you a cab."

She nodded, starting to put away her things, until she paused and looked intently at his desk phone, "Lieutenant Gordon, there's been a strange death radioed in by Merkel, says the guy died laughing, and attacking another pedestrian."

Barbara stared at him.

Harvey seemed to read his mind at that point, "Jim, you can start the search with the kid, and I'll go check on Merkel, make sure the body gets here. I'll catch up with you later."

Jim nodded with agreement, and he looked at Barbara one more time, "Get home, and text me when you get there, got it?"

"Yes, sir!" She saluted, and slung her bag over her shoulder then passed them as she headed out to Molly.

Bruce landed on the platform below him, and brushed the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. He held the bar tight, almost ready to make his assent up the salmon ladder again. He flexed his fingers one hand at a time, the wrap tight about them. Alfred watched a moment, as he jumped up, catching the bar on the first set of hooks. He made it to the top a second time, this time to drop down without the bar.

"Sir, the boy seems to have left the orphanage." Alfred stated.

Bruce sighed, and unraveled the wraps, and headed off to suit up. "When was he last seen?"

"Before bed at 9:30. Ms. Shallor says that she doesn't know how he got out or where he would go. He hasn't been opening up to the therapist, and they've had to do individualized sessions since the barber incident."

He nodded as he placed the armor onto himself, and Alfred deftly helped. "If the police hadn't noted him as a child of interest, then the adoption would have been set, and he wouldn't be out on the streets right now."

"Yes, but he is, because he has important information on Falcone."

"Where's Dick?"

Alfred seemed to pause at that, "He had said he would be at the library, though it should be closed by now. Should, I-?"

"No. If by chance he does decide to come home before I find Jason, send him out on the search as well."

"Of course, sir."

Barbara rushed up the stairs and into the room, putting her bag on the chair. She nearly threw herself on the floor, shoving her hand under her mattress and began to pull out her costume. She set it out, smiling at how she had manage to piece together a Batman outfit, and grabbed a shoe box from under her bed to grab the grappling gun and batarangs she had stolen from the evidence locker at GCPD. She dawned her uniform, and pulled over her cowl. She tied her boots tight, and set up her bed to seem as though she were asleep, though she assured herself that she would return before her father. She pushed open the window to the fire escaped and closed it behind her.

She, looked down at the street four stories below, and took in a deep breath, the fretfulness within her stomach still held childish excited. She knew it would be a fatal if not hospitalizing fall, but she couldn't stop herself. She steeled her nerves with another breath, launched the cable to a building across the street and held on as the wind rushed passed her. She felt her lips twist up in a smile and pulled herself over the edge, running, heading off into the night, her heart fluttering in its giddy dance.


End file.
